Chapter 10
Scarlett
“You…want one of your pie shakes, Queen?” Basti asks gently, acting like I’m not balancing a girl on my leg and whispering semi-inappropriate things into her ear.
I’ve sacrificed my debit card to Sandra (RIP money) and offered up burgers and fries to the whole of Prescott, like making an altar of fast food to my failure will make it sting less.
“Should we have a cherry pie shake?” I ask the girl in a near-pout, and she gets goose bumps all over.
“If anyone deserves cherry pie tonight, it’s you, Queen,” she breathes, and I wish I felt something other than annoyance that she’s referencing tonight’s catastrophic loss. Also, she might be hitting on me. I ain’t a cheater even if I’m pissed off.
“Go play.” I’m being coy as I push her to her feet and turn back to the table, putting my elbow on the surface of it. If the boys are around, they’re careful to stay out of sight.
Good.
I don’t even want to look at them.
“Sandra, she wants a cherry pie shake,” Nisha says as the owner of Wesley’s pauses near our table.
She’s fucking staring at me, and I know she wants to say something about tonight’s race.
She better not. I swear, I don’t care how far back our families go.
If she mentions me losing after I agreed to pay for every Prescott brat’s meal, I’ll—
“Been having a lot of pie shakes lately,” Sandra says, and then she pats me on the head and takes off in the direction of the kitchen.
I deflate instantly, putting my forehead down on my forearm.
I want to scream again. I want to freak out.
I want to start stabbing my own fuckboys with this fork that I somehow picked up and have a death grip on. No memory of doing that.
I lift my face up with a groan and Basti jumps, shrinking back from me like he’s seen a monster in my eyes. He bandaged my knuckles and then made sure to put a lot of greasy food between us, protecting himself from my legendary temper.
“What’s the plan, Scar?” Nisha asks, and I feel bad because she can’t even enjoy her first official night with Hype as her fuckgirl. I’m ruining that. I’m the Lemon now in our group. Me. I’m disgusted with myself. “How does Aspen winning this race make everything better?”
I lean in toward her, lowering my voice to a rough whisper.
“Because he wants me so badly that he won’t be able to resist for long.
Soon, he’ll do whatever I want him to do.
Him winning is like me winning. The outcome will be the same.
” I smile as I reach down, fixing the bow on my blouse.
Reaching into my shirt and readjusting my breasts, uncaring who sees.
I can’t be a winner tonight, but eh, at least I’m hot.
LOOK WHAT THEY DID TO ME?! THEY MADE ME LOOK LIKE A WEAK BITCH IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE SCHOOL. Seethe. Seethe. Seethe.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter, but in truth, I’m about thiiiiiis close to having that psychotic break I promised. Above all, I must maintain ironclad control over myself. Work smarter, not harder.
Ash is temporarily safe from dying. It’s time to deal with my sister.
“Teach me your man-taming ways.” Basti pretends to bow for me and then ends up parking an elbow on the table so he can rest his chin in his hand.
With the other, he tries to feed me chili cheese fries.
“And do it quick. With the amount of pie shakes you—and because of you, also me—have been drinking, we’re halfway to the grave already. That’s an insane amount of sugar.”
“I’m not convinced that you haven’t lost it altogether.” Nisha waves a finger at me, the way I used to wave my finger at Lemon. Exact same motion and energy and all that. “Not a damn thing in your life has gotten better by being around these toxic ass men.”
“You’ll see.” I state my point as calmly as I can.
I’m not trying to get mad at my best friends because they’re worried about me.
They just need to trust the process and wait.
By the time this is over, I’ll be rich and famous and in possession of a fuckboy crew that’s at the level of a crime syndicate.
We’re holding our own against the mayor and the mob.
Impressive, if I do say so myself. “I know what I’m doing. I’m laying the groundwork right now.”
“So I keep hearing,” Nisha grumbles, but I ignore her and Basti helps by force-feeding me several fries.
A few minutes later, there’s footsteps on the tile floor and I’m looking up at that slick Hollywood guy again.
Burt. Mr. Cramer. He has an unlit cigar in his mouth, unlit because if he smokes one in here the whole place will probably catch on fire from the grease and we’re all goners.
Also, Sandra will throw a roll of silverware at the back of his head. That shit hurts.
“Pretty wild stunts there, kid. I’ve never seen anything so blatantly stupid in all my life.
Like Russian roulette with cars.” He seems to find that particularly funny, taking the cigar from his mouth and putting it behind his ear.
Bastian is drooling, but I kick him under the table.
This guy has a neon sign on his forehead that says WARNING: ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.
Bohnes is probably right: this Hollywood dude is more like a mob dude.
Great. Lovely. Happy Saturday to me. “You do that every weekend?”
“Every other night, I win. You should come back again sometime.” I smirk as I lean back in the booth, throwing an arm up along the back as Nisha frowns at Mr. Cramer like she can see the same sign I do on his forehead.
Just because he’s dangerous doesn’t mean there’s not an opportunity here.
“Then you should hire me and pay me a lot of money. I’m worth it. ”
“We’ll see, shall we?” he murmurs in a way that makes me clutch my fork again. Just in case. His shadow, that mountain of a man, stands stoically behind him. A caricature of a human being, two fuckboys wide. He’s a big boy, ain’t he? This stupid goon.
Burt snorts at me, tips his hat, and then takes off. He grabs a bag of to-go food from the counter before exiting the building, and I watch carefully to see what sort of car he gets into. Looks like a slick, black beauty. The sort of car with suicide doors. Also, he gets in the back.
Uh. Fuck.
I pick up another fry and wonder what play Bohnes and Alexei made with the mob.
Ash is doing something with the mayor. Poor Widow and I are just floating out in space.
I summon another girl to my lap and then I feed her fries while my grunge king storms into the diner and takes a seat in the far corner.
I ignore him. If he’s mad, he can put a boy on his lap.
Kidding. I’d still murder him for that, even if he isn’t into guys.
For a while there, it’s peaceful. I can’t stop the intrusive thoughts clouding my brain—I lost the race in front of my whole neighborhood—but I can sit there and salvage my reputation by acting like I don’t give a fuck.
And then, because it’s a full moon night or some shit, Alexis shows up.
She leaps out of a car that’s much nicer than anything I ever expected to see her driving. Some token from Ash to convince her that he’s the real Aspen. Something to keep a fish hooked.
I carefully move the girl off my lap and stand up, red filling my vision as I see Alexis stalk toward the front door like she hasn’t a care in the world.
She walks right in and everything goes quiet. The only sound is of fryers and grills in the back. Sandra curses because she’s a Prescott girl herself. She knows what has to happen here.
“Did I tell you that you were allowed to drive? I smashed up your Ford for a reason.”
I’m still holding that fork.
“You didn’t win tonight’s race, did you?” Alexis asks, and then she laughs at me.
“Get your ass outside. I don’t want to get blood on anyone’s food.” I stalk toward Lexi, curious to see if she’ll run or if she’ll face me down.
She does run, which is at least somewhat satisfying. She dances back from me, off the sidewalk and into the parking lot. Classic cars fill every available space, couples making out or even fucking, friends laughing and singing along with KMZI 66.6.
The people outside shut up as fast as the customers in the building did. This is drama that nobody wants to miss. Scarlett Force, big chill but holding a fork. Scarlett Force, who had two cherry pie shakes tonight. Scarlett Force, who lost against her fuckboys.
Somehow, Widow is standing beside me and I have no memory of him walking up to join me. I pay him no mind. He doesn’t exist to me tonight. My anger is a many-tentacled beast writhing inside my heart.
“You will not spread lies about me on the radio,” I tell Lexi, reaching down to my trumpet skirt, lifting it up in a way that has nothing to do with trysts in the woods and everything to do with violence. I’m still holding the fork with my left hand, but with my right, I remove the gun.
The crowd gasps. Nobody moves. This is Prescott.
I am not smiling. Widow crosses his arms, content to let me handle my own sister. If it were up to him, both Ash and Alexis would be dead already. Doesn’t he understand that I’ll put up with Lexi in order to save Ash? I’d do the same for him. For Bohnes. For Alexei. For Nisha and Bastian.
People I love have to intentionally hurt me before I would ever intentionally hurt them. Ever. That’s a hard-and-fast rule for me, something I live my life by. I shoot out the tires on her new car, bullets whizzing past on either side of Alexis. She doesn’t even flinch.
“Don’t you wish it was that easy? To pin all of your sins on me?
” Alexis points at herself, panting. Eyes wild.
Me losing the race tonight was too enticing for her to resist. This is a taunt.
That, or she needs more information to sell to the mayor to keep herself useful. “Nothing I said was a lie.”